I feel a finger being jabbed into my butt, millimetres from my anus, and right into the bone, causing extreme pain. I arch my back and writhe about, trying to free myself from this unbelievable agony, but the grip on my body was too strong. I twist my body to see who is behind me. It’s the Woman, once helpless, has now a fierce expression, with a wry, Mephistophelian smile. I hear the Man laughing. With one finger I’m made helpless and trapped in excruciating pain.

I manage to let escape some words: “Who are you? What do you want?” She chuckles and says, “I am the Man.” I twist back to see the Man’s absence. Then I feel another hand on my butt, and my wallet is taken from my back pocket. I twist again to see the Man trailing off into the distance. I realise that the Man and the Woman are not of this world when I recognise that his hand did not enter my pocket in the usual way; it was as if it had glided through my clothes and skin, collecting the wallet as it went. I instantly realise that the Man and the Woman are shapeshifters. The Woman laughs and disappears.

I’m running now, up the street towards my parents’ house. I run into the house to tell my mother that my wallet has been stolen, to find my parents preparing my sister, together with about twelve other children, for a school play. The rooms are filled with prepubescent children, in black costumes, with faces whitened by make up and dark, dark eyes, staring at me, singing and spinning. I approach Mum, with the intent of telling her what has happened, but I feel a pain inside me which tells me that the person in front of me is actually the Woman, shifted into my mother’s shape. She tells me that if I tell anyone, my money will be all spent.

I am terribly upset, perhaps more so than if my wallet were stolen in real life; I feel as though I will never earn money again, that I will be forever destitute. I run from the house, down the street and through the park where I have spent many childhood weekends. In the distance I can see the Man rolling away, laughing. I run to the house next to the park, where an old friend used to live. I knock on the door where a woman I did not recognise appears. My friend’s family have moved. I venture to ask her to call the police, but I feel the Woman’s presence behind me, whispering, “If you tell, it will be too late.” And I feel that pain again.

I run back to my parents’ house, where the children are being loaded into a mini-van, on the way to the school play. My father is in the driver’s seat, while my mother is still inside the house. I go into the house and pick up a phone, with the intent of cancelling my credit card. But there is no dial-tone, and I figure it’s the work of the Man and the Woman. I see Mum again, who is now outside helping the children, and I hear the Woman whispering into my ear, “If you tell, she will not believe you. She will think you psychotic, and force you inside the house.” At the same time, I see her in the van with the children. She is now bald, her black hair gone, and she is shaving the heads of the children, while they are still singing and dancing in the van. They rub their scalps, noticing the hair is gone but without concern.

My mother sees my distress; I’m holding my head in confusion and disbelief, walking in circles crying, “No. No. You can’t do this to me,” and holding my hands out to the van as it dries off down the road. I see the Woman lift herself through the roof of the van and fly away, and I’m screaming at her of the injustice done. Mum looks at me as if I am indeed psychotic. I run back inside and try the phone again, switching it on and off, shouting at it as if it’d respond to my plea with a dial tone. My mother is now as upset as I am by the sight of me.

And then I realise what I must do. I decide to tell her that I am suffering from a debilitating mental illness that is the cause of my distress, and that I must give her power-of-attorney of all my assets, so that I don’t do anything stupid with my future, and that I have to move back home. I hear the Woman in my ear again, saying, “Good idea. That’s what we want.”

While it seems like a dramatic choice to make so quickly, I feel satisfied at having made the decision. I feel like I can forget about being responsible for myself for a while, and let myself be cared for. I see myself in a padded cell, surrounded by crayon drawings of forests and rivers, being entertained by my own imagination.